


Dancing

by tprillahfiction



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical, Medical Horror, Medical Kink, Medical Trauma, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Rescue, Sole Survivor, shuttlecraft crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3739219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tprillahfiction/pseuds/tprillahfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy is the lone survivor of a shuttlecraft crash.  Spock rescues him.</p><p>Hurt/comfort, description of crash injuries</p><p>Previously published in Spiced Peaches 2015</p><p>One shot.  Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Minor character death (not Spock or McCoy). Also, measurements are in feet and miles.

DANCING

 

The last thing Leonard McCoy remembers is Shuttlecraft Galileo descending much too fast towards the snowy tundra below. 

*

He opens his eyes and can’t tell how much time has passed since the crash. Could be minutes, maybe hours? Light streams through the windows. Their cracked into spiderweb designs. He’s breathing, it isn’t labored, so the atmosphere that’s seeping in must be tolerable. But for how long?

He tries to move and realizes he’s trapped. He’s somehow slid to the pilot’s station. His legs and pelvis are wedged in very tightly between the broken seat and the console. With both arms, he pushes against the dented bulkhead, tries to free himself to no avail. He quits after the tenth attempt. 

He hears moaning next to him. He glances over to find Lieutenant Kevin Riley, on the deck, struggling. 

McCoy feels down at himself, at his waist. Where’s his communicator? They need to be beamed out of this mess, stat. It’s gone. He cranes his neck around (foolhardy since he might have neck and spinal injuries) to find it. Doesn’t seem to be anywhere. Phaser’s missing too.

Where’s his medical kit? It was firmly attached to his hip, he’d had his hand resting on it before they crashed. Now it also is gone. He finally spies it on the floor. There it is. That’s a relief. He reaches his arms out towards it, stretches his fingers. Damned thing is far enough away that he can’t grab it. Riley’s bleeding heavily. Needs treatment. Maybe he can rouse the man to full consciousness, just long enough.

He works his jaw. “Mr. Riley,” he croaks out. 

Riley opens his eyes. But doesn’t see.

“Kevin,” McCoy says, switching to the man’s first name. “Give me your communicator.” 

Riley’s in a daze but the kid obeys the command, pats down his torso. Lays a hand on the object of desire.

“That’s it, Mr. Riley. Your communicator. Pull it off your belt. Throw it to me. Dr. McCoy. Don’t move around too much. Grab your communicator. Throw it over here.”

Riley closes his eyes then slumps over. 

McCoy sighs. Dammit. “Mr. Kyle?” he calls out for the remaining crewman of their complement of three. He hears nothing. 

*

He keeps drifting in and out. At last check, he’s got two broken incisors, his face feels like it’s full of contusions and of course there’s a huge gash on his forehead. But his nose isn’t fractured, thank the gods, just bloody. His pelvis and legs don’t bother him, as long as he doesn’t move. 

*

Snow’s falling, he can see it, outside the window. It’s completely silent. Everything is completely silent. He stares at his pinky ring. 

*

It’s about day three or four. He thinks. Has to have been that long, because he’s hallucinating due not consuming any fluids. Luckily for him, death will come soon. Won’t freeze to death, the environmental controls seem to be working just fine, keeping the interior at a suitable temperature. 

Riley hasn’t moved. Who knows where in the hell Mr. Kyle went off to? Maybe the man’s gone for help. 

He hallucinates that a monster, a huge, hulking furry creature has just entered the shuttle. White fur with black spots and purple horns and feet and yellow teeth with fangs. Has to be a hallucination--this thing can’t be real--looks too bizarre. Like a cartoon. How would this thing get in here-- the door’s closed-- if it wasn’t a hallucination? 

The creature looms in close to him, sniffs him. Some of the creature’s drool drips into his mouth. The creature moves away, leans down, sniffs Mr. Riley, then scoops him up in its furry arms. 

“Where are you going, mythical furry creature?” he calls out. “Leave Riley be!” He pats himself for his phaser, damn thing is gone. Should be on his belt.

The hallucinated monster exits the shuttlecraft with Riley in its clutches. 

“Wait!” he shrieks out. “Wait!”

The shuttlecraft fades to black again. He stops caring.

*

He’s hallucinating again. Spock’s towering over him. The Vulcan smirks like the devil, then leans down, kisses him. Goddamn, the touch of Spock’s mouth on his is... Exquisite. Took this damned Vulcan long enough to beam down. Now Spock’s kneeling, unfastening his trousers, lowering his underpants, going down on him. Spock's mouth around his cock. Tongue hitting the back of his glans. Spock knows exactly what to do. Oh...oh... keep doing that, just like that. Yeah, just like that. Seconds later he’s coming. 

He blinks and Spock’s gone in an instant. 

As he thought, it was just a dream. His brain teasing him. He’s alone again. In the silence. 

He’s seized with severe stomach cramps and suddenly it’s made him hyper aware and fully conscious. He’s in agony. “Goddamned mythical creature must have given me dysentery,” he breathes. He retches, vomits all over the console. Seconds later he’s soiled himself. Well, death will come all the faster.

He pushes at the console and the bulkhead, tries again to free his trapped body. His arms relax. Defeated. That’s it. Just accept it. 

“Mr. Kyle!” he screams out for the final time. No answer. He glances over at the bloody splotch where Mr. Riley used to be. 

He lays there in a stupor for several more hours.

Dammit, this dying thing is taking too long. Time to help things along.

He reaches over to the bulkhead next to him, shuts off the environmental controls. 

*

There’s the whistle of the tri-corder. He opens his eyes. Ah, it’s Spock. Hi, Spock. Another hallucination. 

McCoy grins from ear to ear, like a loon.

The fantasy Spock is leaning over him. Face so close to his. Can feel the Vulcan’s warm breath on his face. Staring right into his eyes. Fingers are touching and exploring the cut on his forehead. 

Ummm. He reaches out, pulls the dream-Spock closer by the neck. Meets his mouth. Gently though. Oh...Spock’s lips are so soft. Spock’s hair, so silky. Feels so nice. Maybe Spock will give him another blow job. He could do with another. This is his body shutting down. Perfect. He’s a doctor, he knows what’s happening. His mind is playing tricks on him. 

After a few moments he ends the kiss. The real Vulcan would never have allowed this. The dream Spock does. Don’t blink. Spock will disappear. 

“Doctor.”

Don’t blink. Don’t let Spock go away. Just focus on him. It will be alright. “Hmm.” Don't blink.

Don't blink.

Don't blink.

“Doctor, you shut off the temperature controls. The controls are operational, why did you do so? You are aware that it is minus ten degrees centigrade outside this shuttlecraft?”

Sure am. He reaches out again, grabs the Vulcan by the tiny little hips. There’s the sound of the tri-corder whirling again. “You are dangerously low on fluids,” the dream Spock says. 

Don't blink. “I wonder why,” McCoy mutters. Goddamn, his eyes are in agony, but he can't blink. Don't blink.

“Shall I administer Tri-ox compound and pseudo-fluids?”

“Oh, baby how quaint.” Don’t blink. Don’t let Spock go away. Oh dear God, don’t ever let him go away. Spock’ll stay right here if you don’t blink. “Sure, if you want. If that turns you on. You can do whatever you want to me. I’m game.” He chuckles. There’s the hiss of the hypo. 

He can’t stand it any longer. 

He blinks. _Oh no..._

Spock’s still standing there, raising an eyebrow, touching his arm. 

The fluids hit his body and his mind clears. There’s the realization: “You’re real, aren’t you.” 

“Obviously.”

“Oh.” McCoy blushes. 

“Doctor. I have located Mr. Riley.”

“Yeah? How is he?”

Spock hesitates then shakes his head. 

He grimaces. “What about Mr. Kyle?”

“Mr. Kyle's body is behind the seat. He is dead.”

“Dammit.”

“Doctor, I must extricate you from this wreckage.”

“Really? Because I thought I’d just stay here.”

Spock does that thing, rolls those hazel eyes of his. Such a human mannerism. Where’d he pick that one up from? Those long fingers are poking and prodding, him and the seat, the console. “You are quite trapped.”

“I could have told you that. Why don’t you just have Scotty beam me out of this?”

Spock shakes his head. “We cannot use the transporter. I piloted a shuttlecraft down.”

“So it’s parked right outside?”

“Negative.” There's hesitation in those dark eyes. Spock debating whether or not to tell him the whole story.

“Come on, where’s the shuttlecraft, Spock?”

“Thirty miles away.”

“How’d you get here? Hitchhike?”

“No.”

“How’d you get here?” McCoy asks again.

“I walked.” 

"You walked?" McCoy waits a beat. “Thirty miles?”

“Yes.”

“How deep is that snow out there?”

“Seventeen feet deep.”

“Seventeen feet? How in the hell did you manage to--”

“Snowshoes.”

“So how do you plan on--”

“We shall snowshoe back to the shuttlecraft.”

“Snowshoe for thirty miles?”

“Affirmative.”

“You snowshoed thirty miles to get here?”

“It was the only way.”

McCoy balls up his fists. “Spock. Rescuing me is futile. Risking your life to save mine? What in blazes are you thinking? No. Get the hell out of here.”

“If it makes you feel better to know,” Spock says. “Rescuing you was originally the captain’s idea. However, I agreed with his decision. I had hoped I would find the three of you alive.”

“You’re not even carrying a doctor with you, not to mention the idiocy of even considering risking one of my physician’s lives--!”

“I was accompanied by Dr. Sanchez.”

McCoy clamps his eyes shut. “Oh, shit. You lost my doctor.”

“Dr. Sanchez had freely volunteered for the mission. He knew the risks involved.” Spock’s fiddling with the seat. He attempts to move it. It will not budge. He sighs. 

“No. No. No.” McCoy holds out his arms. “Stop it. Leave me here. Go back to the shuttlecraft. You damned fool...Vulcan!”

“Not until I free you.” Spock's looking like this is some kind of a mathematical problem, a puzzle for him to solve. Why doesn't the Vulcan give up? It's hopeless.

“Dammit!” McCoy’s arms flail out. “Leave me be.”

Spock grabs onto his wrists. “Not until I free you.” Spock lets go of him. Spock tries to move the seat again with bare hands, it does not budge. He tries again. Still it does not move. 

“Spock, forget it. I’m stuck in here good and proper. Get out of here!”

“Negative, Doctor. I am the senior officer, I will not obey your commands.”

“I’m the goddamned Chief Medical Officer, I can give you a medical order--”

“Not in this instance.” Spock’s doing something. Now he's holding some kind of a tool.

“What the hell is that?”

“A winch.” 

“Spock, this is crazy.”

“Shhh.”

“Don’t tell me to be quiet--”

“Doctor, please.” Spock is concentrating on his task. The muscles in his face jerk. Never seen that happen. The chair still does not budge. 

"I told you Spock. I'm in here, good and proper. I'm not getting out of here. You're gonna wind up dying, too. Now go away!"

"Negative, Doctor. I shall make another attempt."

"Don't."

"Doctor, please be quiet." Spock's still trying, the damned idiot. 

"Stop!" McCoy begs. 

"Doctor, shut up," Spock whispers. 

McCoy's shocked by those words, Spock never says things like that. Where'd he learn that from? He's always the one telling Spock and Jim to shut up. 

With a grunt from Spock, another grimace from the Vulcan, and a sickly, metallic pop the chair pulls back. There’s now a gap large enough for McCoy to escape. 

With the pressure taken off his hip, he gasps. 

“Are you in discomfort?” Spock asks, his voice seemingly winded from the effort.

“Ye...ah.”

“I shall lift you out of the seat and lay you onto the deck.”

McCoy closes his eyes. “Alright.”

“Count of three. One, two, three.” Spock’s hands lift him up. McCoy cries out. And then he’s on the deck. The tri-ox is keeping him from slipping into shock. 

“Tell me what I should do,” Spock says.

“Scan me.” 

Spock does. “Complex fracture of the right and left femur. Complex fracture of the pelvis. Dysentery. Severe dehydration.”

“I knew it. Filthy mythical creature with the pretty purple feet. Let’s take care of the dysentery first. Renohydroxicam 10 cc’s. Should be in the kit.” 

Spock’s digging through the bag. “This one?”

McCoy takes the hypo from Spock, looks at it. Once, twice then a third time. “Uh huh. Here, I’ll do it.” He slams it into his wrist. “And you need a dose, too.”

“Me?”

“I stuck my tongue into your mouth. Most likely I passed a single celled organism or two into you.” 

This time, Spock blushes. 

McCoy grabs his hand, hits him with the hypo. “I’ll try to keep my grubby paws off of you. Alright. Hypo, chemiexen,” he’s muttering and grunting as he shifts. 

“What is that for?”

“The pain. I have two complex fractures in my femurs and a fractured pelvis, give me a fucking break, will ya?” 

Spock hands it over then watches a moment before digging into his knapsack, pulling something out. 

“What’s that?” 

“Thermal suit.” Just then, McCoy notices that Spock has an identical one on. Spock moves to slide McCoy into it. 

“Wait. Need to do Mr. Kyle’s last rites. And where’s Riley’s body located? Where’s Sanchez?” 

“What’s left of Riley’s body, sank into the snow. Sanchez suffered the same fate as Riley.”

“How are we going to do this for Kyle?”

Spock considers it for a moment. “Phaser.” 

McCoy nods. Spock walks over, says something that McCoy does not understand. Sounds like a type of prayer. When Spock finishes, he asks: “What was that you said? Vulcan?”

“Hebrew. The Mourner’s Kaddish. I felt it appropriate. Mr. Kyle was Jewish.”

“Oh.” McCoy nods. He bows his head as Spock aims his phaser. 

“And we honor the memory and service of Dr. Xavier Sanchez and Chief Petty Officer Collin Kyle,” Spock intones before stepping back to McCoy. “Doctor, time is of the essence.”

“This is crazy. I’m gonna have you thrown in the federation loony bin for rescuing me.”

Spock slides the thermal suit onto McCoy’s body. He fastens it, places a hat onto McCoy’s head, gloves onto McCoy’s hands.

“Toasty,” McCoy says.

“You will not say that when we get outside.”

“Hmph. You know, there’s a flaw in your evil plan. I won’t be able to snowshoe. On account of the bum legs and pelvis, Spock.”

“I am aware of that. I am prepared to carry you the distance.”

“Thirty miles? You’re crazy.”

“I have been called worse by you. Is the pain hypo working?”

“Yep. I’m feeling no pain.”

“Excellent.” Spock dons his snowshoes, puts on a hat and his backpack. He squats and picks up McCoy, cradling him in his arms. Spock opens up the door. 

“Ohhh, you weren’t shitting me. It is cold.” 

Spock reaches over, touches something on McCoy’s chest. “I neglected to set the temperature controls on your suit.” 

“Oh, is that what it was?”

“Are you ready?”

“You know how to snowshoe?”

“Affirmative.”

“Yeah but, Vulcan doesn’t have any damned snow.”

“How do you know?”

“Because...sand and heat and--.”

“We have ice and snow, up at the poles.”

“You do?”

“Affirmative.”

“Oh. So you know what you’re doing?”

“This is the first occasion that I have ever snowshoed, however I have had plenty of time to become acclimated on the way up here.” 

McCoy’s grinning in Spock’s arms. “You’re my knight in shining armor.” He reaches up, touches Spock’s face with a gloved hand. He slides his hand behind Spock's head and pulls the Vulcan down to meet his mouth again. 

After they break apart, McCoy says: “Why do you keep letting me do that to you?”

Spock shrugs with one shoulder. “You are drugged.”

“So you’re the one taking advantage of ME?”

Spock slides goggles and a face guard on McCoy. “We shall discuss that later.” Spock dons his own goggles and face guard. 

"There's not gonna be any damned later, Spock. This escape we're attempting is foolhardy. We're dead men."

"There will be a 'later'. You must trust me."

“Alright, fine. I do trust you," McCoy tells him. "I trust you with everything."

"Good," Spock replies.

"Let’s get the hell out of here, Spock.”

_________  
end.


End file.
